Shades of Blue
by Jaxin88
Summary: For Sam and Dean Winchester, this was supposed to be a normal case. Then they saw the police box in the basement.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This one could be read as a continuation of The Nature of the Wolf, but it doesn't have to be. **** It's quite a bit shorter than that one, but I'll still be updating a chapter a day.**  


Chapter 1

The house at the end of the lane was a decrepit Victorian, imposing in its stateliness. The wide porch groaned as Sam and Dean Winchester shifted forwards, shotguns and books held at the ready. The ghost that had been haunting this address had been sporadically attacking people for the last hundred years, and the list of victims had no clear pattern. Dean's heavy breathing and the long creak of the elaborate stained-glass front door were the only noises in the heavy silence of the autumn air. Sam shivered as they cautiously crossed the entrance hall, eyes darting across the dusty room. There was something about abandoned houses that always creeped him out. They were almost ghosts themselves, decaying memories of a happier time.

The echoing silence of a country night magnified all the sounds around them, from the shuffle of Dean's boots to the rustle of the pages Sam turned through, trying to find more information on the Charlevoix ghost. Dean's hand suddenly raised, his head cocked like a bloodhound on a scent. Their eyes met in the moonlit room. There was a noise coming from the basement, a murmur and a clatter that hadn't been there a moment ago. With a grim nod, the two hunters opened the door leading down. Neither of them noticed the flickering figure in the shadows, watching them.

The half-rotted stairs creaked gently in the still night as the Winchester brothers edged down them, eyes and ears open for disturbances. Sam's eyes widened as they reached the bottom and the sounds they had heard from the entry hall became clearer. There was no way anyone could mistake what that rhythmic fleshy slapping noise was, nor the low groans and soft whimpering. There was no mistaking Dean's lascivious grin, either.

He leaned closer and spoke in a satisfied whisper, "Well, Sammy, looks like we should investigate."

Sam tightened his lips in exasperation. "Dean, no. You just want to take a peek."

"Sam, we have a responsibility. Those people could be in danger." His wide-eyed attempt at an honest expression was about a believable as a used car salesman's.

"Dean, they _are_ in danger. This isn't a peep show."

"Of course not!" He paused. "Still, we should get a lay of the lay first—land. I meant land."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tight. "Dean, are you sure you aren't fifteen anymore? Because sometimes, I wonder."

By the time he opened his eyes, his brother had edged carefully around the corner of the shelves and was staring at the source of that deep, shuddering moan.

Sam's eyebrows drew together. He knew his brother far too well, and Dean's leer had been seared in his brain ever since he had decided to hit on "Little Sammy's" eighth grade prom date. It had been the first time a girl had ever liked Sam back, and his older brother had come swaggering in, full of bad pick-up lines and misplaced confidence. Carrie had refused to speak to Sam again for the rest of the two months he was at that school. She'd avoided even looking at him. So yeah, Sam knew what Dean's perving face was. That perplexed expression was _not_ the look of Dean Winchester, Casanova Extraordinaire. That was Dean Winchester, Officially Confused.

Peering around Dean's shoulder, Sam blinked. The glow that had been visible through the dusty shelving wasn't from an ancient-but-still-serviceable light bulb. There was a tall blue box standing in the corner of the basement, and the light was coming from the windows under the "Police Public Call Box" sign that wrapped around the top. The dim light also illuminated the couple that had been the source of the noises earlier—a tall, skinny man that was resting his head in the crook of a blonde girl's neck as she lay collapsed on the high counter. They were half-dressed and still breathless, with a confused mixture of a brown suit on both of them. The girl giggled, and the man made an inquisitive noise into her neck.

"Aren't we s'posed to be investigating a space-time anomaly?" Her voice was light, with a strong British accent.

The man raised his head and pursed his lips, mock-glaring at the girl. "Rose Tyler, I didn't hear you complaining a few minutes ago. No, what I heard then was more along the lines of _Yes_ and _Harder_ and _Oh God Doctor_." He paused and grinned smugly. "Thanks for that, by the way. Not every day that I get deified."

The girl—Rose, apparently—snorted and smacked his shoulder lightly. "Oh please, you get deified every second Tuesday."

He made a pleased-sounding hum into the curve of her neck. "Really? I had no idea it was so regular."

She giggled. "Something like that, anyway." She prodded his ribs, as his chest was still draped over hers. "Shove off."

"Why should I? You're so lovely and warm. You, Rose, are like my own personal space heater. It's marvelous."

"You say the most romantic things, Doctor."

"I do, don't I?" He ignored her half-hearted prodding and cuddled closer, and Dean stepped around the corner.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" At his question, the Doctor shot upwards and Rose yelped and yanked him back to her, using his chest to cover hers.

She glared at Dean from behind the Doctor's cotton-covered shoulder, hastily pulling her bra back up and her shirt down. "I could ask you the same! What, bored an' decided to rub one off? Beat it, mate!"

Dean's indignant protest was rather tellingly high-pitched, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "Of course not! This place is dangerous—it's definitely not the spot for some late-night nookie."

Sam stepped around the corner once he'd checked to make sure they were decent, the Doctor hastily yanking up his brown pinstriped trousers and tucking in his dark blue button-up. Rose straightened what seemed to be the matching jacket around her once she'd pulled down her denim skirt. "My brother's right. This place is dangerous—there's been a ghost haunting this area for the last hundred years, and forty-seven people have died. It's no joke. You need to get out of here, as soon as possible."

The Doctor turned around, and his expression was as serious as Sam's. "We know. We came here because of that 'haunting'—and really, how unimaginative can you get? Honestly. Everything's a ghost. Here a ghost, there a ghost. It's rather repetitive, don't you think?" Sam blinked. The man's mood had shifted like quicksilver from solemn to petulant.

Rose redid her hair in a loose bun and sighed. "Off track again, Doctor."

"Am I? Oh, yes. I suppose I am. Still, it's a good point."

Dean stepped closer, his posture smug. "If it's not a haunting, what is it?"

"It's an empathetic projection of the final moments of a human-extraterrestrial mental symbiosis."

Rose frowned. "Wait, how is that _not_ a haunting?"

The Doctor turned wide eyes to Rose, "You understood that?"

"Always with the tone of surprise." She grinned at his wince. "'Course I understood it, you lump. I _was_ one of the top agents at Torchwood, after all."

"Yes. Right." He coughed lightly, looking sheepish. "Sorry."

Sam cleared his throat. "You said extraterrestrial." The Doctor nodded. "So, aliens."

"One alien in particular, actually. Judging from the strength and longevity of the projection and the circumstances of the Cartwright family's deaths, I'd say the daughter had bonded with a renegade Psukhikian." At Rose's indrawn breath, he nodded grimly. "Exactly."

Dean frowned. "Wait, what's a Puss-hickey whatever?"

"Psukhikian. The Psukhikians are some of the strongest telepaths I've ever encountered, but they tend to keep to themselves—they're mental symbiotes, you see, and they don't know how to communicate with non-telepaths all that well."

Dean frowned. "If they keep to themselves, how come one ended up here?"

"There was a war on Psukhikos oh, about 500 years ago, your time. Started over something completely trivial—I think it was something about fruit prices—and ended up nearly devastating the planet. There were several Psukhikians who decided that maybe the rest of the universe wasn't so bad, after all, and they've ended up scattered through the planets."

Dean frowned and scratched his ear. "If it was 500 years ago, though, how come this one only showed up a century ago?"

The Doctor glanced at him as he stuck his hands in his pockets, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet. "Well, I did say that they keep to themselves. Without impetus, why would they have sophisticated interstellar travel? Whoever this one was, it probably only arrived just before it melded with Lucy."

Sam's jaw dropped. "You mean it lived through 400 years of travel?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, I'd hazard a guess that that might be the reason it connected with Lucy as it did—for a telepath, being cut off from all others of your kind is excruciatingly painful." Rose reached out and took the Doctor's hand, and he smiled softly down at her.

"So that's what it did? Just latched onto whoever was nearby?"

The Doctor looked thoughtful. "I doubt it. Psukhikians have to have a certain affinity to communicate, you see. Lucy most likely had latent telepathic abilities—but because they hadn't manifested, she didn't know how to handle the connection."

Rose nodded grimly. "The reason Psukhikians tend to stay away from others is their empathetic abilities. They're not just telepaths, you see. They feel everything their counterpart feels—it's why the war got so bad. All the anger and fear that comes with war? Imagine that runnin' through your head constantly, times a million. It wasn't until enough of 'em left that things started to calm down. A lonely Psukhikian, though, they're desperate for connection. They'll try to attach themselves to the minds around them, but a telepathic bond like that is an extraordinarily intimate thing—" she caught a smoldering glance from the Doctor and flushed bright red— "and the other minds often reject the symbiote. Goin' through that, after already being cut off from the rest…" she grimaced. "The results aren't pretty." She gestured at the sheaf of papers Sam held. "You're prob'ly got a record of 'em right there."

Dean frowned at them. "The local police just said that Lucy Cartwright had gone insane and murdered her family. You're saying that the real culprit was a crazy alien?"

The Doctor cocked his head to the side and stared off in thought. "Well, it was most likely a combination of both. Did you happen to find any mental profiles of Lucy Cartwright, interviews conducted by the police with people who knew her and her family? Small town like this, this incident had to have made waves."

Sam nodded. "According to investigations after the fact, the Cartwright family wasn't a happy one. Joseph Cartwright, her father, was allegedly a holy terror of a disciplinarian—the local doctor visited the Cartwright place almost monthly to deal with bruises and breaks. Lucy's little sister, Alma, died under 'mysterious circumstances' the year before the murders. Her mother, Marie, was an invalid who was confined to her room and refused to speak to—or of—her children."

Rose's breath hissed through her teeth. "Why would she do that?"

"Apparently, she had always been sickly after being pregnant with Lucy, and it was Alma's birth that confined her to permanent bed rest. According to members of the community who knew the family, Joseph never forgave her for not giving him a son, and he took that frustration out on his daughters."

"And then the Psukhikian joined with Lucy, and the symbiote had to deal with both of their loneliness and pain. No wonder it went mad." Rose's eyes glittered with tears in the dim light, and the Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

"Yeah, and then _it killed the entire family_ and _forty-seven other people_ over the years." Dean snorted. "It's a sob story, sure, but that doesn't make that many deaths just disappear."

"Dean."

"What? It's true, Sam. Yeah, it went nuts, but we've got to stop it." He turned back to look at the Doctor and Rose, who were watching him warily. "How do we get rid of it?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "It's never as simple as just 'getting rid of it'. Something that's been here for a hundred years, that's powerful enough to kill multiple times, you've got to be careful around it. No amateur exorcism is going to work. "

Dean's jaw dropped. "_Amateur!_ Sam! This limey bastard just called us amateurs!"

Sam ignored him and set his gun on the counter. "What would you suggest, then?"

The Doctor's eyebrow raised, and Sam had to tamp down the feeling that he'd just passed some sort of test. "If the symbiote's still here and still killing, then it was never able to separate itself from Lucy. It's a vicious cycle—her pain increased its pain, which increased her pain, etc. By now, it's probably nothing more than a feral mind, lashing out against anything that hurts it."

Dean nodded, "Okay, so we've got to break 'em up."

The Doctor's eyes widened. "It's not that simple." His gaze darted around the dim basement, and he began pulling Rose back towards the police box. "You'd better hope that it wasn't around to hear you, just then."

Dean snorted, but he edged closer to Sam. "Only sounds we heard earlier were from the two of you."

The Doctor's hand was on the door when the air around them stilled, all outside noise vanishing. The Doctor cursed in a musical, chiming language and slipped his key in the latch, but he was too late—a powerful surge of anger tore through all of their minds, sending their bodies slumping to the dirty floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dean groaned as he woke, or he tried to. It was definitely an odd sensation, groaning without a body. He shifted upright with a thought and stared at the four figures collapsed on the dirt foundation. Huh. So this was what an out-of-body experience was like. He winced and peered more closely at himself. Was it just him, or was he starting to get a bit chubby? Maybe he should cut back on the diner food. There was a shift to his right, and he looked over to see a glowing blue presence hovering over Sammy's body.

_Sam? That you?_

_Dean? What's going on?_

_No idea._

_You seem to have gotten the symbiote's attention quite effectively. Tell me, are you always this thick, or is today special? _Dean looked over at the couple by the police box and had to wince away from the sight. The massive stormy grey presence over the Doctor's body was entangled with a shimmering golden glow above Rose's that was almost too bright to stand. Dean did a double-take at her fallen form. Well. _Somebody_ was going commando today. Made sense, really, considering what they'd been up to earlier.

_Oi! You do realize I can hear you, you perv? Keep your mind off my bits._

There was a flicker around the edges of the shelves, and Sam and Dean drew closer together. Behind them, the Doctor and Rose were braided so tightly together they nearly looked like they'd melted into one. Another presence appeared in front of them, and Dean flinched. There was a faint suggestion of a waif-like girl's form, but the shade pulsed with darkness like an oozing wound. Whatever it was, it _definitely_ wasn't human. The shade flinched back momentarily at that before diving forward, throbbing with anger and pain.

_No! _Sam screamed, just as the Doctor cried out, _Wait! _

The symbiote stilled, moments from slicing through Dean with blade-sharp fingers of solid shadow. Its attention slid from Dean's forest green cloud to the woven minds of the Doctor and Rose. It dissipated suddenly and reappeared in front of them, one long, shifting hand reaching out to touch them.

Dean stilled. _They're bonded. They're not human_. He felt an amused tickle from the Doctor.

_Just got that, did you? And Rose is human. Well, was. Right, never mind._

_You a puss-hickey thing too, then?_ There was a sharp stab of contempt from that storm cloud mind, like the sudden crack of lightening.

_Of course not. You humans—soon as you find out about one thing that goes beyond your experience, all of a sudden you think everything's that thing. I suppose I should be grateful you haven't asked if I'm a Martian yet._

_Doctor? You've got somethin' else to focus on, remember?_ Rose drifted closer to the Doctor, away from the keening symbiote.

_Right._ _Time to be impressive, then._

Dean snorted (somehow)._ Did you really just say that?_

_I could do with a bit of hush, please? _Dean subsided, and the Doctor's presence grew to envelope the whole basement—maybe even the whole house. The symbiote keened, somehow diminishing even as it solidified and collapsed onto the ground. The storm lessened around the symbiote, leaving a patch of clear for her to stand.

And it _was_ a her. Where before there had been only darkness and anger, now a young woman stood, pale and almost painfully thin. Dean blinked and squinted as he looked at her. Sometimes she was the perfect image of Lucy Cartwright, eternally 17. If he kept looking, thought, her skin turned silvery-grey and her eyes lit with an eerie blue glow. Moments later she was a shriveled old woman, her lacy frock browned and torn with age.

The Doctor's mental voice was smugly amused. _Don't worry about it. It's rather beyond human comprehension_. Rose flared an angry golden _Oi!_ at that and he subsided, the thick grey cloud surrounding them dissipating and reforming above his still form. _Oh, come on, Rose. You can't be mad about that—you're not even human anymore._

She sniffed. _It's the principle of the thing._

Sam's deep blue drifted forwards, gliding closer to the flickering shade. _Lucy? Is that you?_

She flinched away from him, shifting in a blink to curl up beside the shelves.

Rose flickered forward, her brilliant glow gilding the shadowy basement. _Sweetheart, it's all right—we just want to help._

If Dean could have snorted, he would have. With a start he realized that he was enfolded by the Doctor's heavy cloud of grey. _What's this about?_

_If you can't keep your thoughts to yourself, I'll have to do it for you. She can hear everything you're thinking. Honestly, what is it about 'telepath' that you don't understand?_

Dean recoiled, stung. _Oh, and of course this isn't hard for you at all._

_It's not. _There was a surety in the Doctor's response that shook Dean, a certainty that seemed as ancient and unwavering as stone. _Rose and I, we're telepathic—though she's a bit newer to this than I am. We've got natural barriers. _The storm cloud thinned and Dean could see Sam and Rose hovering by the shade, patience and empathy coming from them in waves. _Your brother seems to have some sort of natural telepathy as well. You, though—I've got to say, you have the least mental filter of any human I've ever encountered. _He paused. _Wellll, other than Captain Jack, but most of the time he __wanted__ me to see what he was thinking._

Dean furled himself tightly, staying well away from the grey that surrounded him. _You make it a habit of peeking into people's heads, then?_

_Oh goodness, no. I'd never be so rude. _A pulse of amusement came from Rose, and the Doctor paused. _I wouldn't! _He focused on Dean again._ Some people project, is all. You, for example, have been having very rude thoughts about my wife—well, bond-mate—ever since you first saw her. Maybe work on stopping that, hmmm?_

There was a sudden jolt from the corner and the Doctor and Dean spun to find Rose covering Sam, shielding him from the shrieking shade. The symbiote had regressed again—Lucy Cartwright was gone, leaving only a malevolent whirlwind of rage and misery. She dove at the two of them, and the Doctor flickered forward to block her from Rose. Dean was faster, though—he was between the shade and Sam before the thought had even fully formed.

The last thing he felt was the Doctor's sudden fear and rage as the symbiote tore through him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Soft voices dragged Dean out of unconsciousness. He could feel his body again—a mixed blessing, since it felt like the cast of Riverdance was going to town on his head. He groaned, and familiar low timbre of Sammy's voice broke off. Moments later, he felt his brother's hand on his arm.

"Dean? You all right?"

Dean snorted and quickly regretted it, grimacing at the pounding in his temples. "You mean other than the killer headache?"

Another person cleared his throat and spoke, his accent British. The Doctor, then. "It very nearly was. If she'd had any more time with you, I doubt you'd be alive right now."

Dean opened his eyes and shut them again immediately against the bright white light of the room. He cracked them open again moments later, peering curiously at the room. He was resting on the smooth bed, a small machine near his head beeping periodically. His eyebrows furrowed. "How'd I get to a hospital?"

Rose snickered as the Doctor tugged at his earlobe, casting a glance at Sam. "Yes, well. You're not in hospital."

Dean frowned. "A clinic, then?"

Rose leaned forward from her perch on the counter, a mischievous grin on her face. He noticed absently that she'd changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and the Doctor had apparently reclaimed his jacket. "Spaceship, actually."

Dean was still for a moment before letting his head fall back to the pillow. "So I haven't woken up yet, is what you're saying." He reached over and pinched himself, wincing at the sharp pain before staring at them. "Wait, what?"

The Doctor seemed to be laughing at him, leaning against the counter next to Rose. His dark brown eyes were bright with amusement. "So you're willing to accept that we just fought off an alien, but the idea of a spaceship is too much for you?"

He flushed and cleared his throat after a moment. "What happened to little Miss Misery, anyway?"

Sam snorted. "Miss Misery? Really?"

Dean shot him a glare. "Come on, dude. I just woke up."

The Doctor interrupted, his amusement fading. "She was… taken care of."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she's gone. Now I'm going to go check on the temporal orbit and see if that jumble from before's been cleared up." He left quickly, and Dean blinked.

"What'd I say?"

Rose bit her lip. "It wasn't anything you said, he just hates havin' to do stuff like that." She glanced at the brothers and slipped off the counter. "I'm gonna go talk to 'im."

She followed the Doctor out the door, and Dean blinked after her before looking at Sam. "Alright, Sammy, what happened? And an actual answer this time, please."

Sam shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. The symbiote had just barely attacked you when the Doctor, I don't know, exploded. He was _everywhere_, man. Pulled her off you and kind of… dissolved her."

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "So the symbiote's gone?"

"Far as I can tell, yeah."

He snorted. "So much for all that stuff about her not being able to help herself." Sam made a noise of protest, and Dean glanced irritably at him. "What?"

"I don't think he's very happy about getting rid of her."

"Why the hell not? She was a nutso killing machine."

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "She was also in a massive amount of pain. You saw her, Dean. She was just a kid when this happened. She had no idea how to deal with it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey, I've got an idea for how to deal with it—_not kill people_."

A throat was cleared in the hallway, and they turned to see Rose standing there. She smiled at Sam, but her gaze was less warm when she turned to look at Dean. "Sorry to interrupt, but I was makin' some tea, an' I wanted to check if you'd like some."

Sam smiled. "Yeah. That'd be great, thanks."

She looked at Dean, and he quirked an awkward smile at her. "Sure, yeah. Why the hell not?"

Rose raised an eyebrow before leaving, and Sam smacked his brother's shoulder. "Would it kill you to be polite? They saved your life."

Dean groaned and sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah? _Why?_ We just met 'em, Sammy, and I was checkin' out his wife, and now you're tellin' me he got rid of some kid for what? For _my _life? None of this makes sense."

"'S what he does." Rose entered the infirmary again, carrying a tray with four steaming mugs on it. She set it down on the counter and handed the brothers their mugs before taking one for herself. She gently blew on it, her eyes on Dean. "He'll never let somebody be hurt, not if he can do anything about it."

"Rose?" The Doctor popped his head in, his glasses sliding down his nose and his hair disheveled. "Ah, there you are. Ooh, tea!" He picked up the last mug and settled next to her, sipping it with every sign of enjoyment. After a moment, he realized that the Winchester brothers were watching him thoughtfully, and he blinked. "What?"

Rose smiled. "Nothin'. Everything cleared up, out there?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. The temporal field's stabilized quite nicely."

Sam frowned curiously. "What was the problem?"

"The symbiote was tangling the timelines around here. Lucy'd been dead for the last hundred years, but because of the Psukhikian, she continued to affect her surroundings." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even more. "Her actions were creating a tangle in time, so to speak. I'm just glad we got here before it got any worse."

Rose bit her lip, her shoulders tensing. "What, would there've been Reapers?"

The Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to rest against him. "No, love, nothing like that." He grimaced. "Plenty of unpleasantness, sure, but not them."

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "What sort of Reapers are we talkin' about here?"

The Doctor sighed. "The originals. Trust me, if you have to ask, you're lucky."

Sam cleared his throat. "So, this is what you guys do? Travel around the universe, defeating bad guys and fixing messes?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Neither Lucy nor the Psukhikian were 'bad', you know. They were just in terrible amounts of pain, and they didn't know how to do anything but lash out."

Dean snorted. "Save the shades of grey for someone who hasn't seen the list of victims." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped off, stumbling a little. "Am I good to go, then?"

The Doctor watched him consideringly. "If you want to." He paused. "I have to ask, how did you get across the room so quickly? You were even faster than I was, and I've had centuries of practice."

Dean shrugged, pulling on his jacket. "Sam was in danger. Now can I go?"

Sam frowned. "Dean."

"What? We're apparently in a _spaceship_, Sam. I'm allowed to be a little freaked out."

Rose grinned. "I don't blame you. First time I ran in here, I ran right back out again." She turned to Sam. "Listen, it sounded like you two are used to dealing with stuff like this." Dean snorted, and she rolled her eyes. "The haunting, I mean. If you ever run into somethin' weird like this again, feel free to give us a call, yeah? Himself over there doesn't have a cell phone, but I've got mine on me almost all the time."

Sam smiled. "I will, thanks." As they made their way out of the ship, he paused as Dean strode out the door. "Really, I mean it. Dean may have the manners of a caveman, but because of you, he's still alive. Thank you."

The Doctor shook his hand, one arm wrapped around Rose. "You're quite welcome. It was a pleasure, Sam Winchester."

"Same here." Sam left the TARDIS, grinning at Dean's gobsmacked expression.

"That—that's..." He trailed off, staring at the police box.

"Yeah, I know. Cool, right?" A light wind whipped around the basement, and a low grinding began to echo from the TARDIS. As Sam and Dean watched, the big blue box faded out of existence, leaving nothing but a rectangular imprint behind. Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. "Come on, Dean. Let's go."

"But that—Sam! It just disappeared!"

"Well, yeah. They're aliens, remember?"

Even through the darkness, Sam could feel Dean's stare. "And you think that's _normal?_ There's something wrong with you, Sammy."

He rolled his eyes. "Dean, last month a Sasquatch tried to eat you. Do you really want to argue about what is and isn't normal?"

The click of Dean's teeth was barely audible over the creak of the old wooden stairs. He snorted as they made their way back to the Impala. "Fine, if that's how you're going to be." He paused, the keys in the ignition. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean turned to him, his green eyes wide and frightened. "They didn't... they didn't probe me, did they?"

Sam just laughed as the engine roared to life.

FINIS


End file.
